


The Good Ones

by White_Rainbow



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Aftermath - Chuck Wendig, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: AU Where Everyone in Rogue One Lived and Cassian is FINE, Gen, Just a couple of Ex-Imperials, Traitors to the Empire, clandestine meetings, talkin imperial stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Writing Prompt for Fic Giveaway Contest: A meeting of sorts with Kallus and Sinjir Rath Velus post establishment of New Republic since they're both ex-ISB. If you're not familiar with Aftermath, Kallus and Cassian Andor and the legacy of Fulcrum.Because I love the idea so much I included both Sinjir and Cassian in this prompt!





	The Good Ones

Rustic. 

That was the word Sinjir Rath Velas had used to describe the Salty Sarlacc Cantina. 

_ Foul is a more appropriate word for this mudhole, _ Kallus thought as he lifted his boot, which creaked noisily on the sticky floor. There was a sickly yellow tint to the cantina. The clay walls may have been a sunnier color in its early days, but was now caked with Spice smoke residue, riddled with blaster marks, and stains that were better left unidentifiable.

Winding his way past overturned chairs and stepping over the drooling heap of a drunken weequay, Kallus approached the central bar with a carousel of liquids at its center that mostly looked like colored water disguised as alcohol. 

The barstool wobbled as he sat down, and he thought better of resting his arms on the counter, which was caked with crumbs, broken glass and what he hoped was alcohol and not bodily fluids. After several attempts to get the nikto bartender’s attention, he was finally rewarded with a chipped mug of radioactive green ale, topped with a thick head of yellow foam.    


“Thank you,” Kallus said to the back of the already turned bartender. Placing a few chits on the bar he moved to a more secluded area of the cantina. 

Although it was Kallus who requested to meet with Sinjir, he had asked the ex-loyalty officer to choose the venue as a gesture of goodwill. Sinjir had also suggested the time in which they would meet, and it was very apparent why. The cantina this early in the day was not yet a popular venue, but there was a definite hum of activity that would allow the two humans to have an anonymous conversation. 

It was also on a planet that was neither friendly to the dying Empire nor was it particularly welcoming to the new fledgling Republic, as emphasized by the graffitied posters of both factions on the walls. 

Sinjir had assured Kallus that there would be a table “reserved” for them. 

And so it was: a butcher knife embedded deep in the center of a round wooden table in a more dimly lit corner of the cantina. 

“Charming,” Kallus sniffed, and slid onto the bench seat. The perfect posture, ingrained in the ex-Imperial since his academy days had no place here and Kallus made a considerable effort to slouch, propping a dirty boot on the table. His grimy duster fell away naturally from brown cargo pants held together by patches and shoddy stitching. A blaster was at his hip and he made sure it was visible to any who looked his way. He missed the comfort of his own bomber jacket and the feel of a bo-rifle at his back, but for the purposes of looking the part of an anonymous low-life smuggler, the disguise would have to do. 

From this vantage point, Kallus could see the double-doors of the only entrance and exit to the cantina. It had been years since Kallus had last seen Sinjir, and he wondered if he would recognize him after all this time. 

In turn, he wondered how recognizable he was. No longer was he in an imperial uniform and his signature breastplate. His slicked back, sandy brown hair was longer and fell around his pale, freckled, square-jawed face. Zeb had once commented that he even carried himself different. “Like a man who’s finally comfortable in his own skin.”

That would be something different than how he was in the Empire, he supposed.

An hour later, Kallus finally had his answers. 

For one thing, Kallus  _ didn’t _ recognize Sinjir Rath Velas...

...but that swagger was unmistakable. 

It was the confident gait of a man who not only felt at ease in this wretched hive but acted as if he owned the place. Kallus had seen that walk every time Sinjir entered an interrogation room. 

Sinjir was a bit thicker than Kallus had remembered him, free from the strict diet of the Empire which insured the bare minimum of nutrients and little else. The gaunt severity of his high cheekbones were now more rounded and healthier, and the dark bags under his near-black eyes had considerably lightened. His brown hair was pulled back in a bun, but long wavy tendrils framed a narrow jawline, and it seemed his beak-like nose had been broken once or twice since Kallus had last seen him. It seemed while Kallus was dressed the part of a common smuggler, Sinjir had chosen something more akin to a freelance pilot: a slightly disheveled black shirt was accented with a deep blue vest, and a pair of aviation goggles hung around his neck.

Kallus made no move to announce his presence but Sinjir zeroed in on the man immediately. 

Sinjir merely smirked and touched his fingers to his forehead in a sarcastic salute before going to the bar. The nikto approached him immediately and was provided a drink that was clearly off-the-menu. It glowed purple and had the audacity of donning an umbrella.

Sinjir strode up to Kallus’ table, a charming grin bearing white teeth and a gleam in his dark eyes.

“Agent Kallus,” Sinjir greeted, his voice low enough to blend into the cacophony of noise in the cantina, but crystal clear enough for Kallus to cringe internally at his former title. “I would recognize those triangles anywhere.”

“It is captain now,” Kallus corrected, scratching his bearded cheek as Sinjir slid into the bench seat across the way. He pulled out the butcher knife with some effort and set it aside so that there was no longer a barrier between them.

“And look at us both, hair free from Imperial-grade gel and in colorful wardrobes that would make the grand moff roll in his grave (if he had one). Did you invite me here to be my very-late welcoming party to the Rebellion? I joined months ago you know.”

Kallus took a single sip of the acrid-tasting ale then set it down immediately. “I was halfway across the galaxy when I heard you joined us, or I would have come sooner.” Kallus leaned back in his seat. “I thought perhaps you and I could talk. A chance for both of us to see a friendly face from the ‘old days’.”   


Sinjir held Kallus’ gaze as he toyed with the umbrella in his drink. “And what exactly shall we do with our friendly faces?”

“Clear the air, for one.”

“Oh?” Sinjir’s dashing smile still managed to hold on, but his eyes were narrowing. “And does it need clearing?”

Kallus knew Sinjir was a master at microexpressions, better than any other loyalty officer in the ISB. He knew perfectly well this was not a friendly social call. And Kallus was not bothering to hide it with a smile. 

“You know it does.”

A few heartbeats went by. 

Then the mask of friendliness slid from Sinjir’s face.

“Alright. You wish to clear the air? Then let’s open a window or two.”

Sinjir’s entire posture changed. The casual slouch morphed into a very straight posture, relaxed shoulders pulled back and his arms came to rest on the table, fingers threaded together. Sinjir’s long neck extended as his dark eyes bored into Kallus like a pair of venomous spears. This was his interrogator’s stance. 

And Kallus had to remind himself at once that they were on the same side now.

“You abandoned us, Alexsandr.”

Kallus knew this conversation had to happen. Yet, Sinjir’s words still punctured his soul like a hot poker. 

The words came out almost rote, something he had said to every Imperial officer he captured since the day he defected. 

“The day I betrayed the Empire was the day I stopped betraying-”   


“No,” Sinjir said, sharply. “No, you don’t get to do…” He waggled his fingers at Kallus’ face. “... _that_. This is not about taking a moral high ground against the Evil Empire. You abandoned _us_ : The ISB, your people. You were one of the 

‘Good Ones’.  _ You  _ were the Rebel Hunter who filed complaints objecting to the way Lasan was handled.  _ You _ were the Agent who sniffed out corrupt officers and helped elevate the honest ones.  _ You _ were our finest example of a good Imperial, and Yularen always made sure we  _ knew _ you were our best example. Then you just left! Poof! Gone! As if everything we had done to keep the ISB honest was for nothing.”

“It _ was _ for nothing, Sinjir. None of what we did in the Security Bureau made a bit difference.”

“We did a lot of good under the Empire’s banner,” Sinjir argued. “While the High Command promoted fear and oppression, we strengthened our core. We protected the right people, we helped promote the honest officers that were held back by corrupt politics. Hell, Yularen himself stuck his neck out to push Thrawn through the stonewalls, and that chiss brought peace to more worlds than any other Admiral combined. Yularen believed we could be better and affect change from the inside the Machine.”

“For all the good it did,” Kallus retorted, matching Sinjir’s posture, slipping easily back into the assertive stance of a seasoned ISB agent. “We still had Alderaan, Batonn, Geonosis…Lasan. What is the use of being part of a government that has the power to save trillions, but ends up killing billions at a time.”

“We...tried where we could. There were strings the ISB managed to pull to avoid other worlds from sharing similar fates, but…” Sinjir dropped his gaze. “Don’t misunderstand. I was not blind to the atrocities of those worlds. I was there through all of it.”

“How did you sleep at night, Sinjir?”

“I didn’t.” The ex-loyalty officer glanced at the purple cocktail beside him, still untouched, then looked away. Kallus realized that the old Sinjir would have had two empty cocktail glasses by now and would be nursing a third.

“My...apologies, Sinjir.” He frowned at their surroundings. “We should be at a different venue.”

Sinjir shrugged. “A cantina is the best place to vent out our issue without drawing notice. I could not be so candid in a cafe of the new Republic. Somehow they get upset when you use naughty words like ‘Empire’ and ‘Yularen’.”

Kallus sighed. “The Republic…”

“Ah yes, our new saviors in a galaxy of unrest. Do you truly really believe in them?” Sinjir asked. “It is not a loaded question. You have been ‘in the thick of it’ far longer than I.”

Kallus shrugged. “As much as one can coming from the Empire. It is the better than the former in terms of noble intentions, yet it is also borne from a Rebellion that was stitched together haphazardly. In a fight, the Rebellion proved itself the better, but now they - we - must lead. The momentum has been alarmingly slow.”

Sinjir smiled dryly “Say what you want about the Empire, we were organized until the end.”

“Yes...they truly were. And what about you, loyalty officer,” Kallus said, with a dry smile. “Do you believe in our new Republic or is this just a simple survival tactic.”

Sinjir rocked his head from side to side. “I believe in the idea of this new Republic, I suppose. The Republic for all its flaws, has no intention on dominance. A galaxy united would be preferable to one governed by fear for the sheer fact that eventually fear turns to revolt. The Empire made a mistake in cornering too many nexu kittens at one time. They were scratched, and scratched hard. It would be nice to be a part of something greater than myself, something that wishes to earn the trust of the galaxy rather than demand blind obedience.

“But do I believe they are doing a good job so far? Absolutely not. The Republic is terrible in its current state. These brave little kittens now have large claws and larger teeth and not the experience to know how to handle their newfound power.”

Kallus furrowed his brow. “Then why are you here?”

Sinjir leaned forward, his face serious and determined. “Because eventually, this young Republic will find its backbone, and it will be us Hounds of the Empire that will help them find it. A Republic with an Imperial Foundation, that is something that can stand the test of time.”

Kallus touched the edge of his warm mug and decided against a second swig. “I agree wholeheartedly. And this is not a conversation I could have had with any other.”

The surprised expression on Sinjir’s face was an exaggerated one. “What? None of your precious rebel friends wish to hear that an Imperial infestation is actually a  _ good _ thing?”

Kallus smirked. “Perhaps in time. Maybe together, and with a few more recruits of defectors, the Republic will listen to us and our cautionary tales.”

“Yes...let’s hope. What is that annoying phrase that floats around these goodie two-shoes? Hope builds rebellions?”

“Something like that,” Kallus smiled, a bit more genuine.

“Yes well, here’s to building...something...that doesn’t blow up in our faces and leave us unemployed.” Sinjir raised his drink as if to toast, then rolled his eyes. “My charade has gone on long enough. I am getting caf, would you care for a cup?”

Kallus nodded, eyeing the bar with no visible caf machine.

Sinjir went to the bartender who, once again, immediately helped him. Kallus frowned as the nikto exchanged a few light-hearted words with Sinjir, and both laughed at whatever was said. Sinjir returned with two gray mugs (that were probably white in their hayday) filled with black liquid. He also cradled a long cylinder of white powder with him.

“They burn the kriff out of the brew here, but that is why sugar was invented.”

Their conversation drifted away from the Republic and the Empire. They spoke fondly of officers whom would have been good for the Rebellion had they survived the Empire. Sinjir talked of his new crew he had grown a fondness for, and Kallus talked of the Phoenix crew whom he had grown attached to. The discussion drifted into more personal relationships, and Kallus was delighted to hear that Sinjir was courting a dashing rebel slicer. Sinjir seemed...more than a little surprised at Kallus’ relationship with a lasat. 

When the evening ended, the air between them was considerably more clear. 

They both stood, and shook hands. The smile between them far more genuine than at the start of their meeting.

Kallus stayed behind as Sinjir left, busying himself with his datapad with the excuse of “enjoying some solitude” before returning to his duties. 

He waited a full ten minutes after Sinjir had left before he finally spoke again.

“Did you get everything you needed?”

Kallus did not know where Cassian Andor was exactly, only that he knew he would be close. Apparently, he had been the bounty hunter two tables away, sitting with a pair of rough-looking rodians who immediately left the table when the rebel spy rose. He took off the fake respirator and pulled up his goggles as he walked over to Kallus’ table. He pushed aside Sinjir’s caf mug and replaced it with his own whiskey.

“Yes.”

“And were you satisfied?”

Cassian said nothing, his face giving nothing away.

“Well, if you will no longer be needing me…” Kallus raised from his seat.

“He was right.”

Kallus paused, then settled back onto the bench. “About?”

“We need Imperials at the foundation of this Republic.”

Kallus arched an eyebrow. “Of all that was discussed, I had thought that would be a concern to you.”

Cassian shook his head. “I have been in this Rebellion all of my life, Captain Kallus. I have seen first hand what the Empire is capable of, but I have also seen what the Rebellion was willing to do to fight it. If you had seen what I have, if you knew what I have done, you would not have accepted the position of Fulcrum so easily.”

Cassian was silent for a long moment. 

He was not much older than Kallus. His shaggy black hair would have given him a boyish look, but a hard life of hard choices aged him a decade forward. His scruffy beard and thick mustache were flecked with occasional strands of gray. Eyes rimmed with dark circles stared hard at Kallus like black ice.

Cassian took a hard sip of his whiskey.

“The Republic...they are at risk of looking soft. They are freedom fighters, but they are also a fragile republic of diplomats squabbling while the galaxy is in flux. We need control. We need order. And for that to occur, we need people like you, like Rath Velas, K2-SO and AP-5, Sabine and Wedge. You all have turned your backs on the Imperial machine, but each of you hold a vital perspective we will need to keep our own Republic from becoming another Empire. You will never hear the Republic say this, but it is Imperials like you who are our greatest advisors. I wanted Rath Velas here to be sure he was, to use his words, one of the Good Ones. He will be needed as will all you defectors to be a part of what can make our Republic strong.”

Kallus leaned forward. “Mothma doesn’t know you are here. This was not an official evaluation of his loyalty, or mine.”

Cassian said nothing. He didn’t need to. He finished his whiskey, setting the glass on the table as a gesture of finality. Then he stood up and walked out the door.

Kallus stayed in the Salty Sarlaac for a while longer, absorbing all that happened here.

Even after being given accolades for being the brave double agent for the Rebellion, Kallus had always felt like the outsider looking in. 

His unique perspective served only as intel for the rebel leaders, but never had he affected any real change that could prepare them for a post-Empire world. 

Now he had a purpose again. Finally, someone from within the Rebel circle was listening to him. With Sinjir, other “Hounds of the Empire”, and the support of Cassian’s spies and agents, they could form the quiet strength the new era of the growing Republic desperately needed.

They may never been seen as “the Good Ones”, but they would the strong ones to hold it up when the new Republic needed them most.


End file.
